


Been Waitin'

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, Office AU, POV Female Character, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Some good ol' fashioned Trevor Collins/reader insert smut!Commissioned bytreyc00!





	Been Waitin'

Trevor is – oddly friendly with you.

Sure, you’ve been there for two months, but you’re pretty sure he didn’t even stick around _Jeremy_ this long when he joined the main crew. But here he is, setting down coffee on your desk – well, technically _Michael’s_ , but you’re stealing it for the stream – before he collapses in Gavin’s chair, flashing you a grin as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Thanks,” you say with a smile, lifting yourcup in acknowledgement.

“Yeah,” Trevor replies, hooking a headseat over his neck and touching his cup to yours with a smile. His eyes linger on yours for a beat strictly longer than necessary and you swallow thickly, not breaking the eye contact as he swirls his cup in his hand.

“We ready?!” Alfredo asks, breaking your moment – with the answering chorus of agreement and Geoff’s impatient grunt, you tear your gaze from Trevor to greet the camera.

\-- 

Trevor’s arm hooks suddenly around your shoulder and you laugh as he stumbles sideways, your drink sloshing in your glass as you resteady Trevor.

“Hey,” Trevor deadpans, clinking his glass with Jeremy’s and chugging half of it in one go. You roll your eyes and Trevor shoots you another wide grin, his hand still curled around your shoulder.

There’s a lot of drinks out at the office party – a last smash-up before travel season starts and everyone’s scattered across continents – holidays and business alike mussing up the filming schedule for weeks to come. Gavin’s off to England tomorrow morning; Jack to Australia, and a myriad of other brief absences that make it impossible to shoot anything big.

“You good there, buddy?” Jeremy asks with a laugh, clapping a hand on Trevor’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” Trevor says, his voice pitching high at the end. “You?”

“He was just telling me about the, uh, the walking holiday he’s doing next week,” you say.

“Sweet, where you walkin’?” Trevor asks, withdrawing his hand from your shoulders to run a hand through his hair – on its way back to you, it knocks your glasses and Jeremy laughs at your splutter.

“Oh, sorry,” Trevor says, completely unapologetically, clumsily pushing them back up your nose and laying his arm over your shoulder again. You roll your eyes and fix your glasses yourself.

Somewhere between Trevor’s question about mountains and Jeremy’s answer, you slip an arm around Trevor’s waist – to steady him, if anyone were to ask, but no one does. Trevor trips briefly over his words but doesn’t react otherwise, save for the slight way he leans into you now, his fingers curling more firmly around your shoulder.

The party whirls by in a pleasant whizz of chatter and laughter, most people switching out beer for soda and snacks for the barbeque buffet as the evening draws on – Trevor grabs a sharing plate of hot wings for the table they’ve settled at. He’s stayed with you the whole time, warm and cheerful and chatting easily with whoever they came across – trading shots with Alfredo and roping you in for a game of Halo someone’s set up.

“No one’s good to drive, are they?” you ask at one point, a can of Coke dangling from your fingers and Trevor’s hand buried in a bag of crisps.

“Nope,” Trevor agrees.

You watch for a second as Gavin and Lindsay try some weird stunt with whiskey, Michael holding his head in his hands two seats over. No one’s really _drunk_ , just more over overly tipsy – most people have sobered up some over the course of the night, helped by the barbeque and the soda. Some people never got drunk at all – you lift your can to Ryan across the room and Ryan nods politely back, shooting you a smile before returning to his conversation.

“You’re leaving on Monday, right?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. Trevor sighs and nods, munching quietly on his crisps as you sip your Coke.

“Oh no, who will bring me coffee?” You joke dryly.

“Might have to find someone else,” Trevor teases, nudging your shoulder.

You don’t realise how close Trevor is until you turn to look at him – Trevor’s _close_ , only inches away, and your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes falling automatically to his lips.

“You going back soon?” Trevor asks – your gaze snaps back to Trevor’s eyes and you bite your lip, the alcohol and the sugar making you suddenly brave.

“With you?” you ask, grin a little to make it playful, make it something you can play off as a joke if you need to. Worst case is he says no and you don’t have to see him for a week, right?

The seconds that follow seem like decades, and your heart’s about ready to thump out of your chest when Trevor finally responds, a smile tugging up the side of his mouth.

“I think that could be arranged,” he says.

\-- 

Neither of you are drunk enough to use that as an excuse, but from the moment you tumble out of taxi your hands are on each other, gripping at clothes and skin alike as you tug Trevor up to your front door and fumble your key out. He settles his hands on your hips and squeezes impatiently, muttering for you to _hurry up_ and you just butt his chin gently with your shoulder, smiling at his huff of laughter.

The door barely shuts and locks before Trevor’s spinning you to pin you up against the wall beside it, his hands warm on your waist and soda-sweet breath puffing out over your cheek as he stares at you. You curl your fingers in Trevor’s shirt and pull him in with an impatient huff and he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you, slower than you thought he would but pleasant, grunting quietly when your glasses smush into his face.

“Been waiting to do that,” he pants when he pulls away – he lifts a hand to pluck your glasses off your face – you frown and he goes back to kissing you, your glasses dangling from his hand. When you separate again you squint at him and he laughs.

“You’re lucky you’re still cute even though you’re blurry,” you say, taking the glasses from him and muffling his smug laughter with your lips once more – this time he pulls you back to walk you to your sofa.

Trevor trips over the foot of the coffee table and goes down with a yelp, crashing onto the sofa and dragging you down with him, hands tight around your arms and an embarrassed flush rising on his cheeks. You laugh and slip your glasses back on to watch his eyes narrow – he glares at you, his mouth twitching with a smile he’s trying to stifle.

You grin and shift to lay down on the sofa, urging Trevor to hover above – Trevor settles between your legs and braces himself on his elbows with a crooked grin, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

You don’t give him a chance to talk before tugging him down for a kiss, one hand on Trevor’s cheek and the other travelling down his back as Trevor’s hand comes up to rest on your chest. You nods and Trevor breaks away to kiss down your neck, humming when your hand inches up under his shirt to splay over the dip of his spine, slightly damp with sweat.

Trevor’s lips reach your throat just as his hand slips up under your shirt, his thumb dipping under your bra to tease at a nipple, his grin crushed to your skin as you gasp and shiver. He spends some time there, rubbing in light little circles and huffing out a laugh when you impatiently buck up to tell him to _hurry up_.

Trevor’s teeth scrape over your skin and you sigh, threading a hand into his hair to tug him back up and kiss him while his hand slides lower, his knuckles brushing over your abdomen before thumbing at the button of his jeans – you roll your hips up and Trevor groans as his fingers dip into your underwear, hesitantly touching over your skin and trailing _lower_ , his fingers finding your clit.

You moan encouragingly and Trevor’s fingers grow bolder, rubbing teasing circles around your clit and slipping farther down to ease a finger into you.

“Shit,” Trevor hisses, his hips jerking in mid-air. You nip at his lip and bring your hand around to palm the front of Trevor’s crotch, where he’s hard and hot underneath the denim. Trevor’s moan reverberates through your lips and the moment you undo his jeans and gets your hand inside, it’s a race to get each other off, Trevor fingering you in poor time with your strokes, his pace faltering with each shuddering groan that leaves him. 

You grin against his mouth and smear pre-come down the length of him, starting up a smooth rhythm that earns you a swear and a jolt – his fingers tuck up deeper inside you until they find the spot that makes you moan and your spine arch, silently begging for more. He gives as good as he gets, stroking mercilessly over your sensitive spots and grinding his thumb against your clit on the slide out – sweat breaks out on the backs of your knees and the insides of your elbows and you bite back a pitiful whine at Trevor’s movements.

“Gonna come?” You breathe, twisting around the head and moaning at the press of Trevor’s fingers against your sweet spot.

“Not before you,” Trevor pants, muffling your next noise with his lips and pulling out to rub furiously over your clit, making your hand stutter and your thighs clamp around his sides.

His fingers slip in the mess of slick and it’s not long before you’re coming with a startled moan, rocking up frantically to chase the feeling as he works your through your orgasm, hot and tingling all through you. His hips fuck weakly into your fist and you manage to find enough coordination through the haze of pleasure to stroke him, shuddering with each press of his fingers and muttering something probably meant to be encouragement but just comes out as shaky exhales.

Trevor buries his face in your neck and comes with a low groan, his come splattering on your shirt and over your hand as you both come down, your harsh panting mingling when Trevor lifts his head to kiss you again, humming happily against your lips. He slips his hand out of your jeans to brace himself on the sofa again, grunting when you tuck him back in.

“Been waitin’ to do that, too?” You tease.

“Oh, definitely,” he says, pulling back to smile at you, his cheeks flushed pink and his hair a mess where your fingers have run through it.

“You gonna fall asleep?”

Trevor scoffs.

“Who said I was finished?”


End file.
